Chapter Twenty-Two

A hint of spring was in the air, and Browder's footpaws were quite muddy as he came stamping back to rejoin the former slaves on their march across the Western Plains.

Kurdyla smirked at their hare escort. "Step in somethin', matey?"

"Bally sun's meltin' all the bloomin' snow," Browder answered gruffly, "an' the ground's gettin' all squishy in spots. Flippin' nuisance! I'm happy as anybeast that the weather's growin' milder on us, but it's gonna make for some right messy walkin', wot?"

Kurdyla shrugged. "Frozen footpaws or muddy ones, take yer pick. Speakin' fer some o' my littler buddies 'ere, I reckon they've had enuff cold t' last 'em 'til next winter. These warm 'n' sunny days are a welcome thing fer them."

"I s'pose." Browder gave the earthly-fragrant air a sniff. "Wonder how close we are t' spring, anyway?"

The mouse Wexford spoke up. "Four days."

Most heads turned his way. "An' how in the name of jumpin' treetoads would you know that?" Browder asked.

"I count the days," Wexford replied. "Always have, all my life. Even while I was a slave, I kept track of the days, so I'd always know exactly where we were in each season. And there are four days left of winter."

"Hmph." Browder turned away from the mouse. "Didn't know we had a bally walkin' calendar with us ... "

Kurdyla brought the conversation back to more immediate concerns. "So, Browder, how're things lookin' up ahead?"

"Aside from the mud, y' mean? Empty as me ol' granny's biscuit tin after mum's side o' the family stopped by for vittles. Nobeast in sight, just like it's been all along this bloomin' march. These plains are just plain deserted, an' no mistake!"

Fallace the hedgehog maid said, "That's sure t' change with this warmer weather. More beasts'll be out an' about, stirrin' from their winter slumbers."

"Aye, that I reckon they will," Kurdyla agreed. "An' they're like as not t' be goodbeasts, or at least folk who'll not cause us any trouble. Though we still gotta keep a sharp eye peeled fer bothersome vermin sorts. Even if them searats ain't chasin' after us, there might be other bad influences about."

Wharff, the other otter in their company, offered, "Well, don't y' wager any verminous types would think twice 'fore harassin' a party large as ours?"

"There's safety in numbers shore 'nuff, Wharff matey. But I ain't takin' any chances with our newfound freedom. We didn't fight 'n' claw our way out from under th' searats' heel o' oppression just t' be snatched up by some other scurvy scum an' slapped in chains again - " Kurdyla held up his paws to display his manacle bracelets, " - or fer any of us t' lose our lives to thieves 'n' robbers. That's why it's important fer Browder 'ere to keep th' way ahead scouted clear fer us." The big otter clapped the hare hard on the back. "Ain't that right, y' bloomin' blinkin' bally jolly matey?"

"Er ... yes, quite," Browder said, recovering from the companionly pat that had practically knocked him off his feet. "I'm an old paw at rangin' free over hill an' dale, keepin' eyes out an' head down an' not attractin' undue notice to my hare-ish person. An' if I've been able t' do that for m'self all these seasons, I figure I can jolly well put my talents at your disposal as well, wot?" He glanced skyward. "Though even an esteemed hare such as yours truly can't scout out the lands like a bird can. Be nice if Klystra came back to us, don'tcha know. Been four days since he went flappin' off t' join that battle - "

"Three, Mr. Hare," Wexford corrected. "It was three afternoons since this one that the falcon flew off to the coast."

Browder shot the timekeeping mouse an annoyed glance. "Um, wotever, chappie. Bad form cuttin' off yer elders, though. Quite cheeky, wot? Ooph!" The player hare hadn't been watching where he was going and stumbled over a half-buried rock. "Ow! Now look at wot you made me go an' do! Stubbed my poor toe! Can't have that, if you want me t' do all yer bally runnin' for you."

The others all but ignored Browder's low-key histrionics; in the days they'd marched together, the ex-slaves had grown accustomed to the hare's theatrical and mock-pompous manner. "Would you like t' stop fer a few days so you c'n rest yer foot 'til yer boo-boo's all better?" Kurdyla grinned wryly.

"Oo! Here I am, sacrificin' life an' limb to get you all safely to Redwall, an' this is the thanks I get? Last blinkin' time I volunteer for a mission o' mercy!"

Kurdyla turned serious again. "Don't reckon it's a good sign that our bird friend ain't returned. Wonder how that battle went?"

Granholm, the only squirrel in the group, set his jaw hard. "Maybe I shoulda gone with 'em down the coast ... "

Fallace threw a paw around his shoulder. "Aw, Granny, you ain't no warrior, an' you knows it. There was some awful fierce fightin' goin' on back there, by the sound of it. Best that you came with us."

"Yah, well, however things turned out on the coast, it doesn't affect us now," Browder announced. "We've put enough distance 'tween us an' there that nobeast's gonna overtake us, friend or foe. An' since Klystra and his feathery brethren aren't seein' fit to keep us up to date, it's no jolly concern of ours. Eyes forward an' not back, wot? Minds on where we're going, not where we've been ... "

"How can you be so cavalier about this?" Granholm demanded, his tail switching in agitation. "Those were your fellow comrades in arms back there. They could all be dead now!"

"Comrades in arms?" Browder repeated, paw to his breast and ears flopped forward in overwrought consternation. "My good treewalloper, I'm no more a warrior than you are. A good deal less, I daresay. I only came along on this bloody trek because Urthblood wanted me to play scout. And when that badger asks you t' do something for him, you'd better have a bally good reason for sayin' no!"

A young female mouse named Clovis asked Browder, "Do you know how much longer until we reach Redwall? Do you think we'll be there by the first of spring?" Hope was huge in her wide green eyes.

"First of spring?" Browder twitched his whiskers in consideration. "Well, accordin' to that datebook masqueradin' as a mouse back there, that's four days from now. Four days ... hmm. Don't know if we can count on makin' that good time, wot? But won't be too soon after that ... "

"You said we'd be able t' see Redwall by now," Wharff complained.

"Well! For your information, sir, I hadn't jolly well imagined that you lot would prove to be such a sorry bunch o' slowpokes! If I'd been on my own, I'd be kickin' up my heels in front o' the Abbey fireplace right now, warmin' my paws an' enjoyin' their scrumptious fare."

"An' gettin' brained by them other hares who live there," Kurdyla chided.

"Um ... yeah ... "

Every slave in their procession was vaguely aware of some past history between Browder and the hares of the Long Patrol, who now resided at Redwall. But attempts to question their escort as to the specifics of the situation had been adroitly deflected by the player hare.

"Sure you ain't just gone an' gotten us lost?" Kurdyla continued to josh Browder.

"Lost? Lost? I may not be intimately, precisely an' exactly familiar with this particular patch o' property, but I assure you, you discourteous, ungracious, thick-headed planktail, that I most certainly am not lost!" Browder sprinted to the top of a small grassy hillock they were passing on their right, splashing mud and dirty snow in his wake, and struck what he supposed was a heroic pose upon the low crest, pointing to the east. "All we'd hafta do, if we wanted to be simple 'bout it, would be to saunter due east 'til we came to th' main road, then go south on it 'til we reached Redwall. But that'd be a tad out o' the way, don'tcha know. I'm only tryin' to save us some time on this jolly stroll, an' wot thanks do I get? Accusations of misguidance and general nincompoopery!"

"Well, he's got that last part right," Granholm snickered to Fallace.

"Aw, come on down off yore high tuffet, flopears," Kurdyla said placatingly. "I was just kiddin' ya. But th' truth is, we got mice 'n' 'hogs here, an' they ain't got th' leg power of us bigger creatures. Th' pace we've struck is th' one we'll hafta stick to, an' if that means gettin' to Redwall a few days later than we might've, that'll just hafta be good 'nuff fer all o' us."

"Oh. Okay, then." Satisfied, Browder descended the rise and rejoined Kurdyla at the head of the marchers. "Lost, indeed! The very idea! Hey, when d' you think we'll be stoppin' for lunch? Getting a mite peckish here, from all that dashin' about I did on your behalf, don'tcha know ... "

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They found a small high ground where they could sit down to their sparse lunch on a cushion of dry grass instead of snow or mud or wet leaves. The sun shone brightly as a mild breeze played about their fur and whiskers - a winter's day doing its best impersonation of the coming springtime. The meal was light because they were more than halfway through their provisions, and the late winter plains promised scant foraging. This was the biggest drawback to their slow pace; if they didn't quicken their step, there was a real risk that they would run out of food before they reached Redwall.

The former slaves marched all the rest of that afternoon under a pure blue sky streaked with banners of innocent white clouds that never once dared to interrupt the warming sunshine. Nearly half the snow that had lain upon the Western Plains had melted, making it easy to avoid what drifts and patches remained. The exposed ground grew quite squishy underpaw, making every step a wet encounter with sopping grass or squelching mud. Far from disheartening the marchers, this harbinger of warmer seasons to come left the ex-slaves almost giddy, and they stomped and stamped their way cheerfully across the damp surfaces like they were children again, playfully splashing in the aftermath of a summer shower.

Kurdyla had to smile as he glanced back over his shoulder at the way all his fellow former prisoners were carrying on. "Ah, does me heart a world o' good, seein' 'em able t' enjoy life again! There was times, back at that searat camp, when I never thought I'd see another smile on some o' those faces!"

"Yah," Browder offered dourly, "or so much mud on their footpaws, I bet. Wherever we stop for th' night, there'd better jolly well be a stream nearby, 'cos they're gonna need a bally good wash!"

Kurdyla frowned at the hare for casting such a downbeat assessment over the otherwise carefree mood. "Well, then, y' better go scout out such a place fer us, hadn't you?"

"Um ... righto, chap. Be back when I'm back ... " Browder shot off on another of his wide-ranging forward scouting excursions.

The hare reconnoitered as far ahead as he figured the group would be able to get before stopping for the night. At the forward limits of his investigations he encountered a wide, rocky lowland - almost a bowl-shaped valley of sorts - that lay thick with mist in the late afternoon sun. Clearly, here was a region where so much of the snow and meltwater had evaporated and then had nowhere to go that it formed a steady fog over the basin. But, there were no streams or pools visible through that mist, so Browder turned his back on it and went in search of a more suitable spot for his party to spend the night. They could cross the circular valley tomorrow, when it would hopefully be clear of its misty shroud.

Somewhat to the northwest of the basin, Browder found what he was looking for: a copse of trees by the side of a small creek, where they would have both clear water for drinking and bathing and some measure of shelter under the bare branches. The treetrunks and sparse undergrowth would hardly hide their campfire from any eyes seeking to find them, but it would be some improvement over lighting their fire out on the open, exposed plain, as they'd already done on a couple of nights. Besides, Kurdyla had continued to insist upon posting watches each night, and with such a precaution in place, the company was unlikely to be taken by surprise in their sleep.

Browder circled around to rejoin the group, then led them to the grove just as the sun dipped below the mountains behind them. Kurdyla eyed the trees appraisingly as they approached. "Y' made good 'n' shore there's nobeast in there? Looks like there's lotsa room, an' privacy-minded goodbeasts might be as unfriendly toward trespassers as vermin would."

Browder wrinkled his whiskers and splayed his ears half-sideways in umbrage. "My dear otter, please don't tell me how to scout, an' I won't go tellin' you how t' swim, wot? Course I checked it out! A chap knows how to do his job, don'tcha know. Poked my nose into every shrub an' between every treetrunk. We've got this bally bistro all to ourselves!"

"Okay, I'll take yer word fer it, matey," Kurdyla said, but then quickened his pace so that he'd be the first one among the trees. Even as he neared the sheltered spot, he held himself in a tensed crouch, ready to meet any surprise that might be waiting for him, hidden among the underbrush.

"Take my word for it, eh?" Browder muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Not bloody likely ... "

Once the big otter was satisfied for himself that the grove was clear, he ushered his fellows into the trees to join him and Browder. By nightfall, a hearty fire blazed by the brook's edge and a modest but savory hot dinner had been enjoyed by all.

Kurdyla, unbeknownst to the hare, had been keeping a close eye on Browder all throughout the meal. When Browder excused himself from the circle of diners around the campfire to heed nature's call, the otter was waiting to intercept him before he could rejoin the others upon his return.

Browder indignantly straightened his tunic at being thus stalked. "I say, can't a chap have a little privacy while attending to personal business?"

"You've already gotten more respect fer yer privacy than you warrant," Kurdyla said in a no-nonsense tone. "It's high time, 'fore we get any closer t' Redwall, fer you t' tell us 'xactly what's with you an' them other hares we'll be meetin' up with."

Browder hemmed and hawed, fidgeting back and forth, but he could tell from his inquisitor's voice and manner that there would be no avoiding the issue this time. "Um, don't suppose you're takin' no for an answer?"

"That I ain't. This effects all o' us. If we're gonna be walkin' inta th' middle o' some kinda feud 'tween you an' th' Long Patrol, as I hear they're called, we got a right t' know. Now, you can either tell me alone, or you can come back to th' fire an' tell us all. But one way or another, ye're tellin'."

Browder anxiously clasped and unclasped his paws in front of him. "Not a tale I'm especially proud of ... "

Kurdyla threw a paw around the hare's shoulder and guided him away from the flickering camplight and into the dark of night. "Then let's you an' me find a nice quiet spot where we can take th' first watch t'gether, an' you can tell me all about it."

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"It happened last summer," Browder began, his low voice the only sound in the night; the hare spoke softly out of self-consciousness rather than any sense of safety. "Lord Urthblood - he's the badger whose fighters freed you from the searats - had a brother named Urthfist who ruled the mountain fortress o' Salamandastron. Now, Urthblood was older, th' legitimate heir to th' throne, don'tcha know, an' after spendin' seasons up in th' Northlands slayin' vermin an' slavers an' warlords an' generally makin' it a better place to live all around, he decided it was time to come back down here an' reclaim th' throne his brother had been keepin' warm for him. Problem was, Urthblood had been hearin' things leadin' him to suspect Urthfist wasn't too keen on yieldin' the throne back to Urthblood. An' that's where I come in.

"Now, as you know, I'm no soldier or super trooper. Wot I am is a player, plain an' simple. A damn fine one, too, at th' dispensement of my own modesty. I'm also th' fastest hare in th' Northlands, or one of 'em at the very least. That's why Urthblood employed me for my skills. He had me go to Urthfist in Salamandastron, actin' the part of a simple Mossflower woodlands hare, with a story that Urthblood had attacked Redwall an' slain all its leaders, and we needed him to come rescue us from his brother."

This revelation rocked Kurdyla back on his haunches. "But ... but ... why would a badger attack Redwall?"

"That's wot I say!" Browder added pointedly. "Makes no bloomin' sense wotsoever, does it? Only a deranged beast would believe such a preposterous tale! But believe it Urthfist did, an' with not much bally proddin' on my part, lemme tell you. Believed it so quickly, he couldn't've been right in th' blinkin' brainbox. Guess all those seasons o' livin' under threat from Tratton can warp a creature's mind. Think that's wot Urthblood suspected, too, which is why he realized he hadta come down an' put himself back on th' bally throne.

"So anyway, Urthfist packs up eighty of his hundred hares of the Long Patrol an' goes runnin' off to Mossflower to fight his brother, while Urthblood an' his army come by a different route an' capture th' mountain right out from under him! An' I'll have you know not a single one of those twenty hares who were left behind to guard Salamandastron lost their lives when Urthblood moved in ... more's th' pity."

"Pity?" Kurdyla exclaimed in surprise. "What's th' pity with creatures not losin' their lives?"

Lines of sorrow creased Browder's face in the darkness; had it been daytime, he would have looked seasons older than he was.

"'Cos that madbeast Urthfist, when he got to Redwall an' found out he'd been bamboozled, came chargin' back to Salamandastron lookin' to recapture it ... an' his fourscore hares were right at his side, just as fired up fer battle as he was. So, there was a battle ... an' a lot of hares died, along with Urthfist himself. They didn't have a chance, but they took a lot of Urthblood's soldiers with 'em. I'll never again see a shrew friend of mine named Jarbo as a result of that skirmish."

Kurdyla studied Browder's night-shadowed form in the blackness. "If I were them, I'd wanna kill you too."

"But, it wasn't supposed to happen that way!" Browder protested, thinking he detected tones of condemnation in the otter's voice. "It wouldn't have, if that pigheaded, battle-crazed badger had had an ounce of reason in his addled skull! Lord Urthblood went way, way out of his way to arrange things so he could reclaim his throne - his rightful throne! - without anybeast gettin' killed!" Browder buried his head in his paws. "Why'd they hafta go an' fight such a hopeless cause? I could see Urthfist doin' it, if he really was insane. But why'd his hares agree t' go along with him? Didn't they have more sense than that?"

Into the silence that followed, Kurdyla said, "Seems t' me that if Urthblood arranged t' remove his brother from power 'cos he feared Urthfist weren't right in th' head, then he should've expected that Urthfist might do somethin' just exactly like what he did ... "

Browder stared at the otter's dark-upon-dark figure seated on the log across from him. "You sayin' ... Urthblood wanted his brother an' th' Long Patrol to attack?"

"Got his only challenger outta th' way, didn't it?" Kurdyla shrugged. "I wasn't part o' those events, so I guess I can't say one way or th' other. I do know that Urthblood sent his warriors t' fight th' searats, an' I owe my freedom to him. Mine, an' that of every slave who's back there around that fire, or who went down th' coast with his fighters. An' if he's against th' searats enuff so that he'd do 'em th' damage I saw inflicted on 'em, then I'm on his side. Feuds over some badger throne don't concern me much - not when there's evil in this world like th' searats."

Kurdyla stood and headed back toward the campsite, pausing to put a paw on Browder's shoulder. "That bein' said, I reckon mebbe it'd be a good idea if you don't come all th' way t' Redwall with us. Take us as far as 'til we can see th' Abbey ourselves, then lose yerself back out on th' plains. 'Cos those hares will kill you if they see you ... an' after all we slaves have been through, that's one headache we shore don't need."

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Kurdyla did not share what Browder had told him with the rest of the slaves, as far as the hare could tell. During breakfast the following morning, no mention was made of the matter, and none of the others regarded Browder any differently than before. Kurdyla must have sensed that their guide had only revealed this chapter of his past at the otter's urging, and realized this was something Browder preferred to keep to himself. Whatever the reason, Browder was relieved that this would be kept between him and Kurdyla for now.

The day broke mild but overcast, an unsettled mix of wintry gray and spring breezes. Concluding their morning meal and burying the remnants of their campfire, the company set out once more for Redwall.

A short period of marching brought them to the edge of the rock-strewn basin Browder had encountered the afternoon before. Fog still lay over most of the circular valley, just as it had the previous day, its opaque white vapors hugging the ground in patches or twisting through the air in slow motion swirls and wisps.

"Funny," Browder said, stroking his whiskers, "I would've thought this mist would be cleared away by now. Then again, it is a warm morn, in spite of Mr. Sun hidin' behind the bally clouds ... "

Kurdyla scanned the terrain that lay before them. "Hmm. Don't see any streams or ponds. No snow, neither. Wonder what's causin' that steam?"

"Could be some underground spring or such," Browder supposed. "Or maybe the ground's just very wet. It is a low spot, don'tcha know. All th' snowmelt from the last couple o' days coulda flowed here, makin' it marshy."

Clovis the mousemaid regarded the basin with trepidation in her eyes. "I don't like it ... "

Kurdyla threw a paw around her shoulder. "Aw, just a liddle mornin' mist, missie. Naught t' be skittish 'bout."

Clovis wasn't entirely comforted. "But last night it was evening mist - Browder said it was there yesterday too."

"Well, it was sunny and warm yesterday," Granholm the squirrel commented. "Just the kind of conditions you'd expect to find steam clinging around low areas. Nothin' sinister about it."

"Sinister?" Browder scoffed, in complete agreement with Granholm. "M' dear, you've been listenin' to too many ghost stories if you're gonna let a few puffs spook you. Why, in the sunlight this place looks as jolly innocent as a mousebabe sucklin' on flowerbread. Just th' clouds overhead makin' it look more gloomy than it really is, wot?"

Kurdyla glanced left and right. "Well, it's too big t' go around, that's fer shore. We'll just all stick close t'gether, an' with a brisk pace we'll be up an' out the other side by lunchtime! We can even sing some shanties t' keep our spirits up!"

Granholm grimaced. "We've all heard your caterwaulin', Kurdy. That'd surely be enough t' scare away any ghosts that were thinkin' of haunting us!"

"Well, in that case ... " Browder stepped ahead of the others. "Lemme get back to wot I do best, wot? I'll just sprint down ahead, scope out th' bally basin from top t' bottom, an' let you know if anything's amiss. An' if I get lost in th' bloomin' mist, I'll just follow Captain Planktail's mellifluous melodies to find my jolly way back!"

Browder shot off down the gently-sloped side of the basin, and was soon seen dodging rapidly between the rocky outcrops and fading in and out of the mists.

Kurdyla took Clovis's paw in his own and led her down into the valley at the head of the party. "Come along, lads 'n' lasses! Th' day's a-wastin', an' Redwall ain't gettin' any closer with us just standin' here!"

The others followed the otter and mouse down the slope. In his customary position at the rear of the marchers, the former searat Syrek silently fretted and fussed over their course of action. He shared the reservations Clovis had expressed about this place, but had kept his feelings to himself. After all, who cared what a searat had to say?

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Browder raced across the basin in his usual harelike manner, weaving among obstructions that rose in his path and dodging the denser banks of the mist. He noticed as he ran that the entire low-lying area seemed permeated by a sickly-sweet aroma, like the fragrance of summer garden flowers mingled with overripe fruit. At its strongest, the odor had an acrid edge to it that stung the nose slightly and made the eyes water. It seemed worst where the hanging vapors were thickest, and Browder studiously avoided these after his first few encounters with the fog.

"Hoowwm! Must be somethin' pretty flippin' foul under this soddin' sod," Browder yawned to himself as he emerged from the last of the misty zone to scale the far slopes of the round valley. He was too drowsy to realize that he never yawned when he was running, and too lightheaded to wonder why he might be doing so.

Cresting the final rise that put him fully back up on the level of the plains, Browder turned to regard the basin and its clinging mists. "Whooom ... glad t' be outta there! Could put a chap right t' sleep, all that gloom ... Mwoooomm!" He was struck by a sudden wave of exhaustion, fully exerting itself now that he was at rest, and he could not stop yawning as he swayed upon his footpaws. He shook his head violently to keep his eyes from snapping shut.

"Humph! Must be lack o' shuteye, Kurdyla keepin' me up half th' night standin' watch an' talkin' 'bout such unpleasant things ... Whaaaoomph! Well, no bally danger down there that this hare could see, so I think I've earned th' reward o' forty winks, wot? I'll just stretch out here for a bit ... an' be back to sorts ... by th' time my cohorts come stompin' up this way ... yes, that sounds fine ... "

Browder found a small grassy hollow and settled down into it, letting his instincts take over even as he fell asleep. Being a hare, his few last-moment twists and fidgets served to blend him into the landscape.

Browder had gone to ground, and nobeast who didn't actually trip over his slumbering form would be likely to notice him.

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The others, making their way more slowly through the basin, were overcome with drowsiness before they were halfway across.

They'd noticed the peculiar smell almost at once, but it took many paces before the effects of the mist began to tell in earnest.

Clovis, at Kurdyla's side, wrinkled her nose. "Ugh! Smells like ... bad perfume!"

"Really, lass? I think it smells kinda pretty. Wonder what it could be?"

"Flowers, I guess," supposed Granholm the squirrel. "Tho' I gotta agree with Clovis ... I think it's stinky."

"How could it be flowers?" asked Wexford, the mouse who kept track of days and seasons. "It's still winter. No flowers would be out yet."

"Wexy's right," seconded the 'hogmaid Fallace. "'sides, I don't see no flowers down 'ere - just grass, an' moss, an' rocks."

"Smells t' me more like fruit," put in the other otter, Wharff. "Nice, sweet, tasty fruit ... "

"Don't be daft," Fallace scowled. "Aside from th' time o' year, there ain't a bush or tree anywhere hereabouts. So there can't be fruit."

Wharff pulled a petulent lower lip. "Well, ain't there kinds o' mushrooms an' things that grow underground? Maybe this's sumpthin' like that ... "

"Shrooms don't smell like fruit. They smell ... mushroomy."

"An' do y' really feel like diggin' fer 'em, Wharff matey?"

"I know I feel like going to sleep," another mouse said from farther back in the group. "I could lie down on this soggy turf and drift off right nooooaaw ..."

From alongside Kurdyla, Clovis uncorked a monstrous yawn that threatened to unhinge her jaw. "Hmmmawwph! I second that notion!"

The brawny otter playfully ruffled her headfur. "Aw, that's no way t' enjoy yer newfound freedom, is it? Plenty o' time fer snoozin' in nice cozy beds once we all reach Redwall! Fer now, it's one footpaw in front o' the other, 'til we get there!"

But by another few dozen steps, every one of the smaller creatures - the mice and hedgehogs, and even Syrek the rat and Granholm the squirrel - were yawning uncontrollably and tottering on their feet as if they might topple over at any moment. Even the otters were beginning to feel a heavy drowsiness upon them, although they were still more clearheaded than the others.

Wharff, supporting two sleepy mice who leaned heavily against either side of him, said to Kurdyla, "Hey, matey, I think there's sumpthin' down 'ere that's makin' us all woozy ... "

"Aye, I reckon you may be right," Kurdyla nodded, all but carrying Clovis to keep her upright. "In this mist, or 'neath it ... "

"But, if this fog puts us t' sleep," Wharff said, struggling to complete a rational thought through the cobwebs rapidly clogging his brain, "an' we fall over while we're still in it, then we won't be able t' get out of it. I mean, it'll be all around us, even while we're asleep. So, it'd be like ... like ... we'd fall asleep, an' never wake up!"

"Naw ..." Kurdyla responded, his tongue suddenly thick in his mouth. "If this place was that kinda death trap, there'd be bones o' other beasts all about us ... "

"Not if the locals knew t' keep ... away ... away from it ... "

Fear tried to strike at Kurdyla's heart through the descending shroud of grogginess, but he was already too far under the grip of the narcotic vapors to be jolted by the shot of adrenaline that might have spurred him to action under other circumstances. Could it really be that he'd led all his friends, all these creatures who were depending upon him, to their deaths? The idea was too terrible to contemplate. Ot at least it seemed very sad, in some fuzzy and distant way ...

Clovis slipped out of his grasp and fell onto the damp ground, her pack forcing her onto her face. Kurdyla found himself incapable of preventing her fall, and unable to reach down to pick her up. The world swam and spun before his eyes, and within moments he was unable to keep on his own feet.

The two otters were the last to go down, but not even they could resist the creeping effects of the sleep-inducing mist. Before long, every member of their party lay fast asleep under the gray winter morning and the drifting wisps of white vapor.